


Look Sharp

by LadyZeppelin1111 (QueenBoudica1770)



Series: Page St James Guitar God [5]
Category: Led Zeppelin, Real Person Fiction, Rock Music RPF, The Rolling Stones
Genre: 1960s, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Beginnings, Bondage, Canon Timeline, Drunk Sex, F/F, F/M, Female!Jimmy, Female!Page, Gender Identity, Gender Roles, Genderbending, Genderbent Jimmy Page, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Light BDSM, Oral Sex, Page St James - Freeform, Page is the only woman in her band, Porn With Plot, Pre Zeppelin, Restraints, Rolling Stones - Freeform, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sex flipped, Sexual Content, Sexual Identity, Smut, Some Humor, Some Plot, Vaginal Sex, session musician
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBoudica1770/pseuds/LadyZeppelin1111
Summary: The flowering of Page St JamesOur fashion forward guitarist.Genderflipped Jimmy Page, Pre Zeppelin.Still discovering who she is. Sensuality and sex.M/F and F/F
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Original Female Character(s), Jimmy Page/Original Male Character
Series: Page St James Guitar God [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946401
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	Look Sharp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComingOfTheLord1985](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingOfTheLord1985/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Bounce](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26539969) by [wetkitty420](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wetkitty420/pseuds/wetkitty420). 
  * Inspired by [Interesting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929786) by [ledbythreads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledbythreads/pseuds/ledbythreads). 



> Lots of orgasms and a vision or two.
> 
> Page still growing and learning.
> 
> She finds her purpose.
> 
> This is before she forms Led Zeppelin.
> 
> Sex flipped/gender flipped Jimmy Page as Page St. James. Created by wetkitty420 and Page is holding my soul ransom. Somebody halp lol.

Look Sharp

Interview, 2010  
/"...yeah, she (Page) knew my sister Ann first."

Interviewer: So you knew each other before the Yardbirds?

Jeff smiles. "Oh, yeah. I was trying to learn to play guitar and just kinda struggling by myself, and Ann got tired of me moping about it, said there was a girl she knew from college that was amazing on guitar and she knew where she lived. I was then like, well let's go!"

I: her being a pretty young woman had nothing at all to do with it..

The guitarist rolled his eyes and snorted. "Well it didn't hurt, but I was bent on getting help with the guitar, you see. And she kinda flew under the radar, dressed like bloke a lot and all that. So Page is still at her parents' house and me and the sister just roll up with my homemade guitar. I'm sure that was a surprise! But we were instant friends. She got me the Yardbirds gig, was always there for me, you know?"

I: was there a rivalry there? I know of the Yardbirds alumni, I guess you'd call it, you didn't achieve the type of fame Clapton and St James did.

"I thought a lot, that I wanted to be like that, you know, renowned like her, but there was a lot of negative for her that came out of it. So I did things my own way, and I never looked back. I'm right proud of myself, actually. Even when we were in the Yardbirds together and fighting, there's nobody else I'd rather have on my side. Oh, and Miss Page," he looked into the camera, "I know you used my strings for the fucking Tele I gave you. You remember the show I lost my shit, when my string broke? That was you," he joked, and the smile was genuine, playful./

She made her way through the labyrinth of the studio, after nodding hello to the receptionist, as bright eyed and bushy tailed as she could be this time of morning (oh, how she hated early). She was to be recording with Marianne Faithfull for the next little while, helping her complete an album to capitalize on the success of her first single. Page smiled in greeting at her fellow studio musicians, introduced herself to the new young starlet, Marianne. "St James, is it?" she inquired.

"Page," the guitarist insisted. 

"They say you're the best. I'm quite honored, actually." The blonde smiled at her, made Page feel warm, she shook her head and grabbed a guitar off one of the stands, plugged it in, and let fly. They were making good progress when at one point the guitarist looked up to find Mick Jagger had dropped by, ostensibly to see how recording was going, but Page suspected to ensure that she kept her hands off her. The blonde had been nothing but professional the whole time, not that Page wasn't above spending nights with ladies she made music with. Marianne was involved with another chap altogether, but the session musician knew the behavior from the Stones frontman; she'd seen this all before, with others.

Others didn't have the songbird voice of this specimen, however. The manager of the Stones saw her at a party, heard her voice and things began to happen. Page the quiet session bloke knew better than to try pulling a bird they liked. That was ok, the guitarist had no shortage of pussy available. She placed her guitar on a stand and went over to chat with them, got an amiable slap on the back from Mick and so on and so on. Marianne has no idea, does she, that the guitarist wasn't a cute, young man but a woman with enough drive and desire to burn the whole world down, incinerate with her fingertips, blast it with the force of that thing curled at the base of her spine. The fire that could remake, create, mold. Dragon's fire. Serpent desire.

Page in the tweed jacket. Lavender blouse, dark green velvet trousers, loafers, scarf elaborately tied around her slim white throat devoid of Adam's apple. Sharp looker, smooth round face devoid of makeup, the soft voice she pitched low to match her look, yes, look sharp, Page. You crave fame and despise too much attention. Awkward at interviews, when put on the spot. Softspoken, hardworking, yet wielder of whips and restraints behind closed doors. The one who seduces lovely girls and tastes their bodies and passions and stirs them with hands and tools and tongue and green eyes burning.

What are you, Page?

Mick remarks on the color of the blouse the guitarist is wearing, how close it is to pink but how progressive it is and he liked the contrast with the whole outfit Page is sporting. "Page has the best togs," he laughs. "I should get the name of your tailor. Hey, now. There's gonna be a big get together at a club tonight, you should come. Got some we know that's gonna play, should be fun."

"Sure, yeah," was Page's noncommittal reply, trying to keep her jade green eyes off his lips. Such soft, enticing lips in an otherwise sharp, angular face.

Ever since that incident with Jim, she'd been looking at things differently. Looking at men differently. What is it you like, Page? Men? Women? Does it matter? 

It had always been women. Girls. Soft, demure, pretty girls, or even rounded, voluptuous ones like Laura had been, years ago. Pretty eyes, smooth thighs, sweet lips and sweeter cunts to explore and claim. Voices and lips like honey, gentle hands, quivering supple bodies she brought sexual release to. 

To paraphrase a black American blues guitarist she met at a festival while touring with the Crusaders (who had come to England due to the intense interest Brits had developed in the blues), "she had hot'n cold runnin pussy on tap."

But then she was initiated into ways of sexual enjoyment she never dreamed possible, allowed herself to be encompassed in it, and it had unleashed something she couldn't have foreseen. When you mix pain, pleasure, fear, set them forth, relinquish control, that's when then true power is raised. Wasn't it the cult of Dionysus where the worshippers imbibed wine and other intoxicants and spoke to the Gods in their trance of lust and frenzy? Wasn't it the fierce, warrior Maenads, the women both desired and feared by men, that were capable of miracles through their ecstatic rites and sex with each other?  
What unknown horrors and delights are out there for her to experience? 

She saw a face, once, strapped down to a bed by Jackie, where she had been flogged and sensually stimulated and climaxed to the point she wasn't even sure if she was still in her body. Was it the Goddess, was it a future woman she could spend her life with? In her mind, while her pale, slim body quivered in orgasm, she saw a woman indeed, a perfectly made, lovely blonde creature with blue-green eyes, oh she was spectacular...but then she saw another face.

It was a young man, with a golden crown, wait, his head was crowned with a mane of gold. Bright, warm, open, golden, a contrast to her dark severity and hidden rooms in her heart and he was the most perfect and beautiful and precious thing she'd ever seen. He held hands with the statuesque blonde woman, held his other hand out to her.

Smiled.

She came to drenched in sweat, covered in whip-marks, thighs drenched in her own juices as she'd come over and over. Panting. 

And then there was Jim.

James Trent was a session man like Page, but there was such a delicate, ethereal quality to him. Nearly shoulder length tawny hair, hazel eyes like amber shot through with warm green, around Page's height so not tall for a man, but wiry, muscular. Strong jaw but soft, full lips. He was the first guy she ever thought was truly pretty (other than Sex Vision Guy) and he played mostly the organ, did a lot of arrangements. 

It was a party they went to after a rough day in the studio, Page in a tailored men's suit, paisley vest, men's shoes. Jim was similarly dressed, his hair loose except for a couple of braids along the side of his head, just because he liked to do odd shit. It'd been known James wasn't interested in women, which is why she was surprised when tired and drunk, she had lain on one of the unused beds and felt his wide hand on her stomach. She looked over to find him laying beside her. Both of them were still clothed, only having doffed their jackets and shoes. "Pagey," he murmured, running his hand over the clothes covering her taut abdomen, heading to her chest.

"Jim, what?" she mumbled blearily.

She felt his hand slide under her shirt and undershirt, brush against her nipples through her bra. She sat up, removed his hand, stared into his unsurprised face. "You know? Then why--"

"Why not? You're attractive, no matter what you pass yourself as," he slurred. "I think you're great."

She'd always found him attractive, almost but not quite feminine, and she saw it coming but didn't have it in her to stop him. She found she didn't want to stop him. His lips were on hers, drunken, she opened her mouth to let him probe with his tongue. This wasn't bad, she decided, and then put her tongue in his mouth. Jim undid her vest, slid it off her, then her outer shirt, revealing her dark nipples showing through her thin bra and undershirt.

"Jim," she said, and stopped him. "If we're doing this, it's going to be my way," she waited for this to sink into his inebriated brain.

"Sure, Pagey. Fuck me any way you want." 

She had never shagged a man before, but she was a fast learner. His body was something different, a new experience for her, but when he filled her she decided it was ok, different and strange...she would have to try this more times. For science. 

They had sex a few more times after that, and then he joined a touring band, having tired of session work. To be honest, Page was growing weary of the session grind as well. Maybe she should join a band.

After Mick's invitation, she went to Jenny's flat, to see if she wanted to go, too. Jennifer Hartwell was a friend/sometime lover Page tended to come back to, and the girl also was the manager of a high end clothing shop, which was an added bonus for the fashion-conscious guitarist. Chocolate brown hair, deep brown eyes, plump legs, wide hips, an earth mother who sensed the confusion and anxiety in Page.

Jenny thought it would be fun to dress Page in a dress from the shop she brought home to alter, but it already fit Page exactly. Perhaps, the brown haired young lady thought, Page needed to explore some things. This might be fun, besides. Jenny put the guitarist's thick, ear length ebony locks in huge hot rollers to smooth it down, with only a slight wave to it. Page dressed in women's clothes when she went anywhere with her parents, not because they asked her to, but out of consideration for them. It was usually loose blouses and comfortable dress pants or jeans, maybe some lip gloss on her full lips or a barrette in her hair.

Not like this, though. The sparkly gold minidress only came to about three inches above her knees, her long legs seeming to go on for days. Jenny tried to talk her into some heels, but she drew the line there, and so opted for some black flats to go with the wide belt for her dress. The whole garter belt and hose situation was hilarious, with Jenny having to help her with it. All the fastening and closing and pulling and stretching, Jesus how did birds do it? Page suspected once this horseshit was completed she would just look like a fifteen year old boy in an expensive dress. Her arms lean but muscled from moving her own instruments and heavy music equipment. Not much hips compared to a lot of other ladies, those impossibly long legs. This is likely ridiculous, she thought. 

After applications of mascara and winged eyeliner, Jenny marched her in front of the full length mirror.

A tall, slender, alabaster and gold diva greeted her eyes. "I don't fucking believe it," Page breathed. She looked like a Hollywood movie star on the red carpet or something.

"Look how beautiful you are." Jennifer squeezed her lover and got herself ready, in a red dress similar to Page's and curled her hair. 

Who are you Page? 

When they got to the club, Page grumbling about having to carry the clutch with ID and wallet instead of sensibly having pockets, almost nobody could believe it was her. Mick knew, of course the man had pussy radar and a pantymelter dialed up to 11. Keith hovered around her being pseudo gallant, which made her laugh. Some of the session guys hit on her then laughed to discover it was just old Pagey. She was normally used to being the predator, but in this silly getup and the men's behaviour she felt like the prey. 

Then a band of young lads came onstage and began playing, and there was the most adorable angel of a young man playing guitar. The voice had such grit and soul to it, she felt it down in her soul. Keith came up beside her and noticed the expression on her face. "We're trying to get him, too. Between Marianne and Terry it'll be something."

"You're not going for the band?"

"Naw, the only one worth anything is Terry Reid. The one yer groping with your eyes."

"Was it that obvious?"

"Pretty much. I'd watch, though, Mick has his eye on him."

"Figures," she muttered.

Keith guffawed, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. "What's this? St James backing down from her quarry? Sweetie, there's not a man or woman that could say no to those legs."

She was still her. And she had charm, goddammit.

When Terry came off the stage, a tall, leggy woman in a gold dress was waiting on him. She was like a pale drop of moonlight made flesh, short dark hair, toned arms, and the legs..

All right, you get the idea.

Up close, the lad looked young, maybe 17 or 18? Big round heavy lidded eyes, lips like something out of a Renaissance painting, short dark hair. Delicate bone structure, beautiful like a girl. Oh, his voice though. It was incredible. His face so smooth and youthful, he blinked at her as if he couldn't believe a goddess had come down from the heavens to shine upon him.

"Ma'am?"

"I'm Page St James."

"Terry Reid," he shook her hand awkwardly. Oh how endearing!

She was taller than he, but he had this wiry strength to him. She wasted no time getting him to the darkened hallway leading to the dressing rooms. Shocked at first, he was eager. Hands on her small breasts, up her skirt. She tasted those incredible, soft lips. Felt the bulge of his need against her thigh. They would've likely shagged on the spot if Page hadn't heard a commotion from the main area.

She pulled her skirt down despite being wet and ready to fuck as anything and ran, as she'd heard Jenny's paniced voice. Sure enough, some drunken asshole had been groping Jenny, and had tried to drag her outside to have his way with her. Mick and Keith though were screaming at him, the Stones guitarist appearing particularly wild eyed which was keeping the guy from making a move. Page ran up and got in the chap's face, yelling for all she was worth. He grabbed her arm, she kneed him in the crotch. He squealed, and she proceeded to kick him over, then began stomping him while he was down. She ripped the tight dress all the way to her waist with the motion, and only stopped when a shaken Jenny touched her arm.

Page held Jenny once they got back to Page's house, still clad in her torn dress. "Are you all right, love?" the guitarist inquired.

"That asshole scared me," the plump girl began. "But you frightened me too, Page. You would've caved his head in. There's darkness in you."

What are you, Page? What do you want? Do you even know?

Jennifer wanted Page's touch despite seeing the violence of the night. She wanted to forget the touch of the drunken lout who'd laid hands on her. Page washed her face, took off the dress, apologized for ripping it and for flipping out on the drunk guy. Such a silly getup, it wasn't her. She then crawled between Jenny's legs, tasted her, stuck her tongue in the girl's depths, fucked her with hand and mouth. Oh, she could make her forget about any man. She made her come, time and again. Lapped all the juices, suckled her clit, felt her tense and tremble in orgasm. After she felt like she'd worn her out, Page had them switch out.

"You're gonna tie my legs to the posts," Page instructed her. "I wanna be spread, I want you to fuck me with this," the musician held up an enormous dildo. 

"Give it to me hard," Page insisted.

Her legs splayed wide, her pussy open to the air, to the gods, her neck tied with silken cord to the head of the bed but her arms were free. 

"Fuck me, Jenny. Fuck me till I scream, bury that thing in me. Don't stop."

Slit dripping wet, she needed no lube.

"Harder. Harder, love!"

Jenny thrusted into Page for all she was worth with it, surprised at how much the guitarist could take. She came once, twice, tried to pull forward and was halted by the cord around her neck. Oh, goddess. Her breath was cut off momentarily, and even though her hands were free, Jenny had artfully tied it out of the reach of her hands, as her legs were bound. Oh, the excitement. She fell back prone onto the bed as her lover fucked her with an object large enough to bludgeon someone to death with. She was coming, yes, coming again.

The last orgasm left her boneless and exhausted, barely conscious. Concerned, the motherly girl untied Page and covered her with a blanket, kissed her sweaty brow.

"So nice, love," she breathed, barely audible. "Jenny darling."

Who are you, Page? 

She knew who she was. What she wanted. 

She was Page St James, musician, lover, creator, controller of her own destiny. She would find a band, travel the world, change music. The guitar called to her, beckoned her. Beckoned her like the god in her vision, she must leave the constriction of session work. Does it matter if she fucked men or women? Did it truly? She was Page.

Bathed in dragon fire.

Dark sexual energy.

The cleansing power of creation. 

Use me, she begged. Let the Music use me. Do what thou wilt.

****

[Page 1](https://queenboudica76.tumblr.com/post/631629345274953728/pre-zeppelin-page-st-james-gender-flipped-jimmy)

[Page 2](https://queenboudica76.tumblr.com/post/631646079153209344/genderbent-jimmy-page-mid-60s-page-st-james)

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo uh hey, what no idea what happened but Page wanted to tell her story lol.
> 
> Kudos, cheese sammiches, ideas, comments welcome!
> 
> Come on, I thrive on attention! :D


End file.
